Chapter 41 - The dark before dawn

Aragorn stepped out into the corridor, feeling the chill of the morning air upon the bare skin of his face and hands. The new day had not yet arrived, and there was time before dawn would come to Rohan, bringing with it, perhaps, the blight of Saruman and his dark creations.

Aragorn gathered his cloak about him and felt vainly for his weapon, realising, as his fingers met air, that his sword lay still upon the summit of Amon Hen. He clenched his jaw at the thought.

Taking the corridor to the left, he followed the passage around, trailing the tips of his fingers upon the carven walls. The torches that had burned brightly the night before had long since burned to nothing, and the way ahead was covered in shadow.

It was then that he first caught the sound of voices. Indistinct it was at first, a ghostly whisper in the dark before dawn. Yet it came again, and this time with more substance, and Aragorn quickened his pace, hoping to find Eomer amidst those preparing to leave Edoras as first light.

The voices seemed to resound ahead of him, and, as Aragorn turned the corner into a much narrower space, he realised he had entered one of the two passages that were secret passageways, which led to the tapestries behind the great hall.

He quietly listened and found that he had walked in upon a private meeting.

"My lady seeks solace from the shadows of the night."

The words reached Aragorn's ears as he stood motionless behind the dark curtain. The sound was clear to him now, resonating from the lofty ceiling and walls. The voice seemed to Aragorn to be at once fawning in tone and bold in the choice of words, and he recognized at once that it was not that of Eomer. There was a rustle of cloth, and Aragorn deemed that the other figure had moved away across the room.

"You need no words," the strangely compelling voice persisted. "I see your grief as clearly as it is written upon your face."

"You see nothing of my mind." This second voice was familiar to him, and Aragorn recognised it as that of the Lady Eowyn. Yet the tenderness he had witnessed as she had welcomed her brother earlier that evening had gone, and in its place was a cold hatred of which he had never before heard the like.

The other man, however, was not deterred by her obvious distain. "Oh, but I do see your thoughts."

Aragorn carefully pulled the curtain back, not liking the tone of the conversation any more than he liked the man's voice. Peering into the gloom he made out the shadowy figure of a man garbed in a black so heavy that only his pale skin shone in the darkness.

"Finally your brother has given the King reason enough to have him locked away. You are grieved by his betrayal, for now you will be utterly alone."

He was near to her now, and Aragorn took his opportunity to slip out from behind the curtain and approach with quiet steps upon the stone floor. He could see the distress growing upon the Lady Eowyn's face as the man slowly forced her against one of the great stone pillars, and he felt his own heart ache for her struggle.

She fumbled at her waist, drawing out a short knife that glinted softly in the grey light from the eastern windows. "Approach me, Snake, and I will cut your throat."

Aragorn's eyes widened slightly at the sudden movement, yet the slight shake in the hand that held the knife and the wild desperation in her eyes warned him that, despite her boldness, she was not in complete control of the situation.

The other man saw it also, and, reaching out his pale hand slowly towards her, he said, "Do not be foolish. You forget that I hold your brother's life in my hands."

The tremors of her hand increased, and Aragorn heard her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her hand lowered, and the knife slipped from her frozen fingers. A hollow thud sounded as it struck the stone floor.

The man reached out, almost hesitatingly, towards her face. "So cold, yet I see your pain. Watching over your king in growing doubt and fear, you curse your womanly form for its weakness, hiding your desire behind this facade of ice."

Aragorn had heard enough. He covered the space between them in three long strides and hurled his weight into the dark figure, throwing the hunched man onto the floor, ignoring the cry of surprise and fear that emanated from him.

Eowyn stepped back in alarm, and quickly Aragorn looked to her, finding her wide, frantic eyes upon him. He grasped her shoulders gently, the pallor of her face making him afraid she would fall. She stood straight and tall, though he could feel her body tremble as he held her, and it seemed to him that her shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly with exhaustion and relief.

The man had scrambled to his feet and now stood a safe distance from Aragorn, wiping at a cut upon his forehead. Aragorn felt immediately disturbed by the pale eyes upon him.

"You will regret this," the man hissed, with a shake of his dark head. He side-stepped the couple, never turning his back upon Aragorn, his dark matted hair moving about his face like black serpents.

As he melded into the shadows, Aragorn thought to follow. He abandoned the idea, however, as Eowyn fastened her ice-cold hand upon his wrist. "That was the king's counsellor," she said, and the cold dread had returned to her face. "For many months now his word has been law." She met Aragorn's eyes with a mingled gesture of both hope and despair. "You must leave now, yet I pray that it were not so. There has been little light in our halls of late, yet with your coming there has also come hope."

There was a silence between them, for Aragorn could sense her desperation keenly, yet he knew not how to ease it. The eastern end of the hall had been growing steadily lighter, and great shafts of sunlight, which streamed down through the great windows set high above them, basked the entire hall with golden light. Day had come.

On the heals of the new morning came others, moving out of the shadows at the back of the hall as the two gazed up at the golden dawn. Aragorn sensed their presence immediately, yet knew he could do nothing. They were men of Rohan, and in all things men should be allies. He had to trust to this, for there was little else to which he could cling in the face of an approaching enemy.

He let the men surround him, holding his palms open at his sides in hope that they would recognise that he meant them no harm. The looks they gave him spoke of suspicion, and the darkness beneath their eyes held much doubt and fear.

One of the men approached, his wary eyes fixed upon Aragorn. He reached out to the Lady Eowyn and motioned for her to move away from the ranger.

Nodding to Eowyn, who would have still stood by his side, he appealed to the soldiers for their clemency. "Loyal soldiers of Rohan, I mean you no evil. It may not have come to you, but I am a guest in this house. The Lord Eomer kindly welcomed my companions and me to his home."

His explanation did not appease the men, and, if it was possible, it seemed their faces grew darker still. The man who appeared to be their leader glared hard at him and drew closer as he spoke. "The Lord Eomer is charged with treason. You, stranger, would do well to comply lest you, too, be implicated in his treachery."

With a smooth step, Aragorn moved towards the soldier, thinking that if he could convince this man not to hold them prisoner there might just be a chance.

But one of the younger soldiers had not the same shrewd judgement as his captain and, panicking, struck out with his sword arm. His heavy blade sliced easily through Aragorn's surcoat and into the tender skin of his side.

Aragorn pulled away sharply in surprise at the boy's sudden action and sucked in a breath at the sudden flare of pain and the rush of warm blood as he pressed his hand to the wound.

"Halt!" The captain grasped the young man's sword arm angrily. "I gave no order."

"But sir..." The young man's face was pale and damp with perspiration, and Aragorn almost pitied him. When war came to Rohan, this boy and many like him would not survive the harrowing brutality of the battlefield.

"Our orders are to escort the prisoner to the gates of the city." The leader looked to Aragorn and then away, as though he could not suffer to hold his gaze.

Two of the soldiers moved and took Aragorn's arms, and the captain fell into step behind them. The ranger then heard him speak to the young man. "Keep your wits, lad. War is coming, and against these traitors of Gondor your wits will be your best weapon."

It took little time them to reach the main door. Aragorn had a thought to ask for an audience with the king, yet it seemed Theoden no longer held sway over Rohan or its people.

A blast of heavy wind caught him full in the face as the heavy door swung open. The weather was grey, and the sun was as guarded and restrained as he himself felt at that moment in which he stood between the two stony guards. Yet the ferocity of the wind caught even the soldiers by surprise as they struggled down the great steps, shielding their eyes from the dust that sprung up in their faces.

A line of guards flanked the steep road to the gates, and all were silent, caught up in the wild weather and its sombre expression. There were no murmurs - only the voice of the wind and the crunch of feet as they followed the line to the gates. Aragorn stumbled frequently, for the ground beneath his feet was rough and the soldiers holding him stern and unbending. He recognised many of Eomer's men among the throng, their faces dark as they met his gaze.

He saw Hama's distinctive figure from across the road, and tried to attract his attention as the man glanced in his direction. The door warden quickly and discreetly made his way between to the group of soldiers to Aragorn's side. His face, when he reached him, betrayed his annoyance and distress. "I warned Eomer that his rash actions would come to this." The man shook his head, and it was very clear to Aragorn that his admiration and love for Eomer ran high, higher perhaps than his desire to mindlessly follow orders. He looked earnestly at Aragorn, noticing the other's strained expression. "You are wounded!"

He reached for the man's side, ignoring the restraining limbs of those who still held the ranger captive.

"A scratch," Aragorn murmured, pressing his arm more tightly against his side as though it could staunch the pain along with his blood. "What of Eomer?"

"He comes now." Hama's voice was grim as he gazed further down the road to where Eomer was being escorted between two guards. In the gale that swept across them Eomer's pale hair flew about his face, and it seemed strange that, even as a captive, his bearing was far prouder than those who held him. The horse lord was brought up to the large wall, before the great gate, and there Aragorn recognised the now familiar figure of Grima. The councillor stood upon the ground, and, though he had not the stature of a warrior, Aragorn's eyes felt drawn to him as if he embodied the spirit of this grey morn and all its powerful forces.

Aragorn watched the situation unfold with growing dread. Grima's pale eyes rested on Eomer for a moment, and the side of his mouth twitched. He then shifted his gaze further up the slope to where Aragorn and Hama stood, and again behind them, to where, if Aragorn turned his head, he could see Gimli.

The Dwarf had evidently been dragged from his sleep, for his thick hair was tousled, and the soldiers were attempting to restrain his ire. Aragorn almost pitied them. The fellowship had learned quickly that an irate Dwarf in the morning was a thing to be avoided at all costs.

It was a few moments before he could spot Pippin amongst the crowd, and at last he was relieved to see the Hobbit standing with the Lady Eowyn at the side of the proceedings, his curly hair strewn about by the wind.

One glance at the lady's face filled Aragorn with pity, for now she would lose her brother as she had lost father and cousin. Grima's eyes seemed to linger on Eowyn too, yet pity was not what Aragorn saw stirring in those pale depths.

At last Grima lifted up a parchment. "Eomer, son of Eomund, you are charged that you did willfully defy the orders of your king, and ride forth from Rohan in hindrance of our allies, thereby committing treason. The punishment for treason being banishment, there is no other choice but to banish you and all that follow you from this land."

Eomer strained against the arms holding him, and it pained Aragorn to see the desperation and frustration upon his features. "Snake! What says the king? What says my uncle? You may poison his words and make lies to rid yourself of those who oppose you, but the king is not the dullard you make him. What says he?"

Grima smiled, his thin lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. he turned the parchment he held to face the crowd, and clearly visible upon the sheet was the signature of Theoden.

Eomer was silent then with shock, and, as Aragorn was pushed closer to the gateway, the disbelief upon Eomer's face seemed that of the young man he would have been had war not ravished his childhood. Grima approached him, and, as he passed, Aragorn barely managed to catch the whispered words. "I also expect more welcome news. I am sure your uncle will give his consent in this also." The man's pale eyes flickered meaningfully to the place where Eowyn stood with Pippin. Eomer stared at the man for a moment, and it seemed the wind had paused in anticipation. Then with a great yell threw himself forward. Grima had expected anger, grief perhaps, but this terrible rage shocked even Aragorn, who knew Eomer to be one of hot temper and great protectiveness for those he held dear.

Grima was knocked to the ground for the second time that morning and received a blow to his head before the guards recovered the strength and ability to drag their enraged captain back from the man upon the ground.

Eomer finally went down as a fist caught him in the chest and stole his breath.

Legolas knew now that something inside him had died when first the fires on the distant horizon had burned in his sight. Hope, perhaps. Faith. He could feel the loss now, eating away at him. Nothing could be said now of the glories of war, the valour of Elves, Men, Dwarves... and Hobbits. The thought of little Pippin almost choked him with sorrow. Even now the red haze from the fires clouded his vision, though he kept his eyes upon the trampled grass.

"The fire, it may not be what it seems." Faramir struggled to keep up with the Elf's long strides, yet it was now beyond Legolas to care. The words were hollow, without meaning or hope, as the man knew as well as he. There was nothing now that could quell the fires within him but the truth. Yet even then, though the burning ache might be appeased, he would drown in despair and grief.

He topped the rise, and the wind rose up, spitting ashes and foul fumes in his face as he stared down at the smoking pyre. He coughed, consumed by the realisation that the ashes... His eyes watered, whether from the smoke or the growing ache of despair and guilt, he did not know. He broke into a run, feeling the wind in his face. Faramir called out to him, not being able to follow, but the voice was caught in the wind, and he heeded it not.

The great pile of bodies rose before him, a black, charred array of limbs, armour, twisted weapons all smoking.

He picked his way through the rubble, helpless confusion fogging all his thoughts. Ugly heads with gruesome expressions of pain and anger glared down at him from the poles upon which they had been displayed. Their glares seemed to taunt him, blaming him for being too late. He did not know what he was searching for. Some sign, some indication that the horse-men, whose foot prints and hoof marks were clearly visible, had found Aragorn, Gimli and Pippin alive.

"No, Aragorn, you cannot ask this of me!"

Aragorn dropped to his knees before Pippin, taking the Hobbit's small shoulders in his hands and imploring him to understand. He was aware of the need to leave swiftly, for their horses were prepared and Eomer was already mounted, his normally open face darkened with bitterness and a bloody gash across his cheek, a parting gift from Grima.

"We will return," he promised. "I would not leave you here were it not so."

The look upon Pippin's face was enough to tear Aragorn's heart in two. "I will not be a burden to you," he pleaded. "I don't want to stay here. I want to ride with you and Gimli."

Aragorn sighed. "It is for your own protection." Pippin's expression told him that tact would get him nowhere. "And it is your duty!"

Pippin's eyebrows rose tiredly. "Duty?"

"I need you to do something for me. I can trust no one else. I need you to protect the Lady Eowyn."

Pippin sighed, seemingly caught between his fear at being left behind with strangers, and his desire to help in their fight.

"Eomer needs someone he can trust to protect his sister, and you are the only one who could do this. She is proud, and will not accept the aid of other men. She trusts you."

Pippin bit his lip, staring at the dust beneath his feet. The noise of shuffling horse hooves increased Aragorn's desperation, yet he needed to make sure Pippin decided for himself. "Saruman could be here at any moment. I want you to keep Eowyn out of sight. Do you understand?"

Pippin nodded, and with a sigh he finally met Aragorn's gaze.

Aragorn gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Do not let yourselves be seen."

He stood and took the reigns of the horse he had been given, looking back to see Gimli take his farewell from the Hobbit.

"I see you are abandoning me to the companionship of that scruffy ranger." The Dwarf patted Pippin fondly on his curls. Aragorn saw Pippin's attempt to smile fail as he grasped the Dwarf in an farewell embrace. "Mind that you take care of yourself, Master Hobbit, til we return."

With difficulty Gimli clambered up behind Aragorn, looking behind to see if Eomer was following. The horselord gazed up at his city, and Aragorn felt for him as he rode from the gates of his home perhaps for the last time. Something else, though, had caught the rider's eyes, and even as the three companions passed through the gates a horn sounded clearly.

"A salute?" Gimli suggested, glaring up at the city with narrowed eyes.

"Nay," Eomer shouted, turning his horse about. "A charge. My Eored, they come!"

And as Aragorn turned about his own steed he heard the thunder of the horse-hooves through the city, and the gleaming glint of helms of steel. They thundered from the gates, and it seemed as though the love they felt for their captain had held strong, for their number was hardly less than the patrol that had destroyed the Orcs the previous day.

They rode north, for it was Eomer's desire that they should wait and watch and be there should Edoras call for aid. For himself and Gimli, Aragorn had decided, they would ride with Eomer until safely out of the path of Saruman's approaching army and then make west for Isenguard. There, he hoped, they would find the answer to their long awaited question. What had become of Gandalf?

Aragorn looked back over his shoulder, and saw, or perhaps only imagined he saw, the small figure of Pippin standing by the tall gates.

Legolas shifted another charred orc helm with his foot, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his composure. The wind threw his hair into his face, as though trying to break through any sense of sanity that still remained. They had been here perhaps an hour, and not for one moment had he halted his quest. He felt though that, for once, he was coming to the end of his endurance.

He stared blearily over at Faramir, who seemed to have given up some time before. The man had lowered himself to the ground, lying with his head on his hands while he stared vacantly at nothing. Legolas gritted his teeth angrily, realising pathetically at the same time that his own search was proving no more useful than his companion's.

He dropped to a crouch, resting his aching limbs, and wishing, with confounded irony, that he had Aragorn to help him decipher the ground beneath him. While Legolas valued his own tracking skills, somehow Aragorn had always managed to best him. Growing up with the devious Peredhil twins had no doubt honed his senses.

That, though, had Legolas wondering how he could ever break the news to Aragorn's adopted family, to Arwen... He closed his eyes and took a few shuddering breaths.

"Legolas!"

He looked up, catching some excitement in the other's tone, and feeling uncertain hope rise within.

Faramir was kneeling upon the grass, his eyes seeming wild and his hair brought upwards by the wind.

They ran, all weariness seeming to have fallen from them. Legolas grasped the small dirty golden belt in his hand tightly as the grass whipped against his legs. It seemed a miracle that Faramir had happened to choose the place where the Rohan wounded had been laid to rest, and further still that he had happened to notice the dust covered end of Pippin's belt aligned with the mark of where the litter had pressed against the earth. Surely this meant Pippin had been rescued from the flames and taken with the soldiers to Edoras.

He was aware of Faramir lagging behind now, and he slowed in his pace though it irked him to do so. Hope filled him and his morose state of mind seemed to have dissipated.

He waited till the other man reached his side, and a moment more till Faramir had caught his breath once more.

"Forgive me," Faramir said after a moment. "I am a burden, I know. I would move faster were it not for my shoulder."

Legolas shook his head, worried suddenly by the man's pallor. "It matters not, now, at least; we can hope they are safe."

Faramir nodded, raising his hand to press against his shoulder, "You should go on. I understand your haste. He has become a brother to you and losing him would be losing a part of yourself."

"Nay," Legolas smiled, feeling his wildly beating heart slow and a calm finally come upon him. He realised, perhaps for the first time, that Faramir and he were not so very different. The man had understood him despite Legolas' determined idea that he was trying to take Aragorn's place. They had both been striving for the same thing: to see Aragorn reclaim the throne of Gondor and to win their fathers' approval despite their personal loyalties. "It is not far now, and we can walk it together."